


Going Through the Motions

by aoyama (HowlinForHale)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Flash Fic, Gen, Headcanon, Narrator Chara, Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowlinForHale/pseuds/aoyama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Imagine Frisk smiling at Toriel as she heals them at their reunion, imagine their cheeks bulging as they happily take another bite of butterscotch-cinnamon pie. Imagine what their face looks like when Toriel turns around, fire flickering to life around them.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Imagine what it looks like when they <b>burn.</b></i>
</p><p>----</p><p>An alternate take on the Pacifist Route, as experienced by Frisk and the voice inside their head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Through the Motions

**Author's Note:**

> This originally started out as just a headcanon, which is why the text adresses the reader at the beginning. Sorry for the confusion.

Okay so. Imagine a Frisk who’s aware of the “game” nature of Undertale, who knows that to free all the monsters and get a happy ending they need to do a no-kill, “perfect” run.

Okay? Okay.

Now imagine a little kid trying their best to give everyone a happy ending… and dying, dying, dying because their “friends” are intent on killing them, over and over and over again. Imagine Frisk waking up at a savepoint in the Ruins for the first time, after dying to a Vegetoid. They’re not angry, they’re too exhausted for that ( _Warping the space-time continuum according to your will does that to you._ ). But even though their soul is as intact as it was before the fight, they did lose something back there. Not determination, never that. You could call it excitement, maybe, or faith, or trust. Either way, they grip their stick a little tighter, their shoulders are hunched a little further as they continue their journey to Toriel’s house.

Imagine Frisk smiling at Toriel as she heals them at their reunion, imagine their cheeks bulging as they happily take another bite of butterscotch-cinnamon pie. Imagine what their face looks like when Toriel turns around, fire flickering to life around them.

Imagine what it looks like when they **_burn_**.

Imagine Frisk’s little flinch when Toriel reaches around them for a final hug.

When they walk along the hallway to the exit, they don’t know whether they’re relieved or sad. They’re surprised, when they meet Flowey for a second time right after, when they hear his mocking words, that they feel the former.

At least Flowey is honest about his violence.

—

Imagine Frisk laughing at Sans’ jokes, playfully breezing through Papyrus’ puzzles. They’re a little scared of all the deadly things pointed at them at the bridge, but in the end they knew the brothers wouldn’t hurt them.

…Right?

They wake up on the floor, and it’s so cold inside the… shed? …that at least they don’t feel the pain on what must be every inch of their body. That counts for something, doesn’t it?

When, some time later, Papyrus rejects their “ardent feelings” at the end of their date, Frisk laughs, but not because they’re happy. They get Papyrus’ phone number, and never call.

After all, when it comes to their real feelings, Papyrus wouldn’t want them anyway.

(They never call Undyne either. It’s the first time Frisk loses count of how many times they died in battle, and after that they don’t bother counting anymore. They’re continuously surprised by the monsters’ inability to see the strain around their smile when Frisk says they want to be friends, the tired slouch of their shoulders when they reach, again and again and again, for the Mercy button. Maybe, they think, it’s because this is just as much of a game to the monsters as it is to Frisk, only the monsters are not heroes, not in the way Frisk is.)

( _Not in the way you **chose** to be_, a voice whispers at the back of their mind. _You chose this._ )

(Frisk agrees. And something deep within them, call it an “inherent sense of goodness” perhaps, or “the fear of not doing what is right” if one wants to be cynical, doesn’t see these words as an accusation. Rather, it feels like something akin to comfort and the voice is silent for a moment, as if surprised by that response.)

_(Thinking of a happy ending for your murderers fills you with **determination**.)_

(… is what the voice finally says, and Frisk laughs sincerely for what feels like the first time in ages. It’s bitter, yes, but at the same time it feels like something inside you, in a corner of your soul that doesn’t feel like it’s entirely yours anymore, has settled. Like the voice has at last found its purpose, or peace, or maybe both.)

—

Imagine Frisk in the hall with Sans. Imagine them shaking a little when Sans says “you didn’t gain LOVE, but you gained love… does that make sense?”. And maybe Sans sees this and thinks they’re excited, or happy, or moved, but really, they’re this close to laughing hysterically or maybe crying ( _That comedian_ , the voice sneers) because all they can think about is how it really, really _**doesn’t**_.

Imagine Frisk dying for hours, _days_ , because the Mercy button is _gone_ , what are they supposed to do, they can’t suddenly start fighting Asgore, _can they_? Imagine their mind, exhausted, retreating into themselves and something, _someone,_ taking over and taking the knife, reluctantly, slowly raising it against someone they knew once, long ago, thinking _this is not that person_.

Imagine Ç̵̛͉͚̜̭̻̿ͯ̓͛̍̊͢h̔̒̋ͭ̾̂̎̾͡҉̡҉̣̠̱̣̯͙̯å̹̲̩̤̫̳̌̎̅̅͐̿ͯͦ͊́̓̇̚͜͜͞r̹̥̘͉̘͍̭̱̰̈ͫ̾ͭ̿̕͡͝ͅa͙͕̲̺ͤ̇ͮ̓̅̇ͮ́ͅ dropping the knife in front of a kneeling Asgore and carefully picking up the shards of the Mercy button, sharp edges leaving cuts on their hands and staining the button with blood, a macabre parody of itself.

And then retreating because in the end, it is not their choice to make.

( _Because in the end, they trust you._ )

Imagine Frisk being horribly, guiltily relieved when Flowey’s speech interrupts Asgore’s talk of ( _hah_ ), **_family_**. Imagine that as part of the reason why they choose Mercy for Flowey, too.

(The other part - the part that thinks Flowey might be the only one they can trust beause he’s the only one not hiding his bloodlust - is too sad to think about.)

—

Imagine the rest of the True Route go by in a blur. Imagine Frisk feeling guilty for being unable to return the monsters’ seemingly sincere affection, wondering if maybe there’s something wrong with **_them_** for being unable to stop having nightmares about spears and bones and fire.

Imagine the voice telling them _soon, your mission will be over soon_ , and being unable to feel happy, or relieved, or anything at all.

Imagine a soul being made of nothing but determination and the embodiment of being _**done**_.

(Maybe that is why Frisk liked Flowey - Asriel, now - from the beginning. They’re similar, in that. Just scared little children with the world’s weight on their skinny shoulders.)

(And maybe that is why, when they choose to forgive and to comfort, it’s not because they have to, not because that’s what a _good person_ does. By now, Frisk doesn’t think themselves a _good person_. They do it because they want to, with all of what’s left in their young little heart.)

—

And in the end, imagine Frisk watching the sunset, the voice commenting on how beautiful it is. Imagine them not looking at the monsters, not hearing their comments, or questions, or even their “thank you”s.

Imagine them wondering if all of this was worth it and thinking that yes, it was, but not for the reason they thought it would be at the beginning. Imagine them thinking of the reason they climbed Mt. Ebott, before they knew of the game, of SAVE, and LOAD, and MERCY. Imagine them smiling a little, thinking that really, after all of this, they’re glad they didn’t die down there, on Ç̵̛͉͚̜̭̻̿ͯ̓͛̍̊͢h̔̒̋ͭ̾̂̎̾͡҉̡҉̣̠̱̣̯͙̯å̹̲̩̤̫̳̌̎̅̅͐̿ͯͦ͊́̓̇̚͜͜͞r̹̥̘͉̘͍̭̱̰̈ͫ̾ͭ̿̕͡͝ͅa͙͕̲̺ͤ̇ͮ̓̅̇ͮ́ͅ's deathbed.

They - both of them - are so much stronger now. Compared to what they went through, life on the surface should be a piece of cake.

And then.

Then, imagine them quietly fade away into the background while the monsters are still looking out onto the valley.

Imagine them leaving without saying goodbye because there’s nothing left to say that wouldn’t ruin this perfect happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and please leave a review on your way out!  
> Also check out my tumblr, where I post more UT stuff: ao-yama.tumblr.com


End file.
